Sunday, 30 November 2014

Number 45

I wasn't
sure what to expect when I stepped into the community hall. According to the website, the church wishes 'only to provide evidence of life after death'. Blimey.Would it be more
like a religious service or a séance?

There were about forty people sitting in
rows, facing a table at the front with two women sitting behind it. Everyone
seemed to be smiling, and there was a buzz of chat. On the table was a homemade
'Spiritualist Church' sign next to a cross and a hymn board. I knew I had to leave early, and was hoping for a seat by the exit,
but the only free chair was right at the front. The woman next to me was
friendly. 'We turn off the lights and talk to the dead, you know,' she said. She was laughing, which suggested church service. A silence fell, and the
older woman at the front, after a few welcoming words, invited everyone to
stand and say the Lord's prayer. I stood up and kept quiet, feeling awkward and
intrusive. We sat down and someone passed me a folder full of typed sheets – a homemade
hymn book.

The first
'hymn' was Wonderful World, which isn't a hymn, but is a good song. I stood up
and opened my hymn book, but couldn't bring myself to sing, possibly because I
felt I should stick to my observer role, possibly because my Louis Armstrong
voice would be bound to slip out and give me a coughing fit.We sat
down, and one of the congregation was invited to step to the front and read the
'Age shall not weary them...' verse as Remembrance Day was coming up. Next
hymn: I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing. This was already getting a bit
muddled. After this, the visiting medium was asked to say some inspiring words.
She was a primary teacher, it turned out, and she talked about her class's
reaction to learning about Ann Frank, and particularly about the people who
helped the Frank family. At first the theme was courage, but then God and
Angels became involved, and I lost the thread. But it was very soon time for the final hymn: Bring me
Sunshine - a fine song to accompany the strange combination of images in my
head.

We settled down, and the visiting medium was reintroduced.
Without explanation of what she'd do – everyone seemed to know, she said, 'I'd
like to speak to the lady in the second row with the pink cardigan'. The
50-something lady nodded excitedly. 'I'm here with an older gentleman – he's
very neatly dressed,' said the medium. The cardigan lady nodded excitedly.
'That's my father!' she said, instantly recognizing him from his unique
feature. 'He's a nice man.'
'Yes – that's definitely him!'
The medium thought this was too easy. She proceeded to stage
1b: 'He says things were difficult for him at the end of his life'. Nods 'He
says you were really good to him.' More nodding, and what looked like a tear.
'But his life before that was a bit easier,' she said. This was amazing. It was
at this point I noticed she was doing strange things with her hands before she
spoke, writing in the air with a far-off gaze, or frantically tapping the side
of her head, as if she her body and mind were temporarily taken over as she
received these messages. Surely people weren't believing this! I looked around - they were. Maybe it was me who was crazy. 'I could be stubborn, though!' she said, switching to
the first person. 'And he could get cross if anyone said anything bad about his
family,' she added, switching back to the third person, as if she'd gone too
far. What were we supposed to be picturing. Was the neat gentleman standing
next to her, or had he taken her over. Why was he talking in short, vague,
sentences? And what was he making her write in the air? It was too mysterious
for me to comprehend, especially when the spirit went on to reveal that he'd
had a nice life, and that the lady in pink would have an opportunity coming her
way in the next year, which she should take, because it would be a bit of fun.
The spirit had clearly read the Daily Mail horoscope when he was on earth.The medium
moved onto another, oldish, woman. This time it was a cantankerous old lady who
actually had a heart of gold who was speaking to her. She was well below
average height. The woman in the congregation shook her head. 'No, I can't
place her.' The medium momentarily looked annoyed. 'She could be difficult!'
she snapped. 'I'm well below average
height ... no more than five foot!' The woman in the audience was clearly
failing to place her. 'No,' she said, 'It's no one I know.' This was too much
for the medium, who clearly didn't suffer fools. 'Does anyone know this lady?' she frowned. 'She's NOT VERY TALL!' There
was no response, and the medium rolled her eyes. Forty people in the audience,
and not one of the dopy feckers recognizes this basic stereotype. A few deep
breaths and she recovered her composure and chose another receiver. The woman –
it was almost all women in there apart from a couple of old men, me, and a
teenage boy in there with his granny – took the bait, as did the next two,
nodding, smiling and even shedding a few tears as the medium typed and tapped,
barely keeping up with her inbox.
An hour had passed, and it had long since become tedious.
The 39 people whose dead relatives weren't being channeled all carried on smiling
benignly, receiving some kind of comfort. I waited till the medium changed
receiver, and headed for the door. I caught her reading my mind as I left. My
mind was saying that although she was tricking these people, they were there
voluntarily and seemed to be comforted. Pretty
much the same deal as in any church, but with a bit of homemade charm. I felt a
twinge of guilt for intruding.

Hi Jim, I'm a producer from BBC Radio Kent trying to get in touch with you and Claire about the 50 challenges. I have tried emailing Claire through her website but the contact form doesn't appear to be working. Is there an email address I can contact you both at? I'd be grateful if you could email me at faye.hackwell@bbc.co.uk so I can get in contact. Thank you, Faye

The fifty things

This was one of my surprise presents for my fiftieth birthday given to me by my wife - fifty activities / challenges to do throughout the year, written on numbered pieces of paper in a wicker basket, each of which will make me do something I would probably not normally do. Monday mornings have something to look forward to at last.